


Lord and Chariot

by compo67



Series: Punzel Verse [27]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Issues, Heavy Angst, Hurt Jared, M/M, Mpreg, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Relationship(s), Past Sexual Abuse, Poetry, Rape Recovery, Recovery, Therapy, Timestamp, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 14:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9275897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: The first time sucks.Jared hates every one of his fifty scheduled minutes. He promised Jensen he would try. Just try. This is ridiculous. He could be sitting on a couch of his own at home, not here in some therapist's office.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic goes into exploring post-rape/trauma. Please be sure to read the tags. Thanks!

The first time sucks.

Jared hates every one of his fifty scheduled minutes. He struggles against the questions, the inquiries, the sketches of his character. His heart flutters the entire time, erratic in his chest, as unsteady as his words. Yes, he’s originally from Texas. No, he does not miss it. Often. Yes, California is different, of course it is, it’s an entirely different state. Not only that, but California resides in a whole different universe. He wants to be galaxies away from the mess he left in Texas. Turns out, however, that distance isn’t that easy.

The second time, Jared shows up ten minutes late. 

And still, because of scheduling, he receives fifty minutes. He doesn’t embellish answers or spin stories or make anything more or less colorful. Statements launch from his mouth and land on the expensive marble coffee table in the middle of the moderately-sized, urban contemporary country look room. He thinks more about what to make for dinner afterwards than any of his replies.

On the third visit, Jared arrives five minutes early. The kids would not stop screaming. There wasn’t any reason for the screaming. No bugs. No scary stories. Not even any fighting. They just one by one started screaming and decided to test out their capacity of their lungs and the patience of the adults in charge of raising them. Once he starts telling the story of The Triplets to Whom I Gave Birth to Six Years Ago Who are Now Acclimating to the First Grade and Wouldn’t Stop Screaming This Morning, he can’t stop. It’s a story about the kids. He tells cashiers stories about the kids. With three kids, there are plenty of stories to go around. From the time Jared found out he could get puke in his eye to when he finally understood the necessity of buying a special light switch so the kids would stop turning the light on in their room at three in the morning to hold impromptu parties. But what about this morning? Yes. Jared was the first to snap, which is rare, it really is. He gathered his herd of children and told them, in the deepest and most somber voice possible that he would let them scream all day. However. Every person only gets one hundred screams for their entire lives. If they used them all up today, then they’d never, ever be able to scream again. Not even if a monster crawled out from under their beds tonight and grabbed them by their ankles. How did he know this? Because he didn’t listen to his parents when he was a kid and look--Jared opened his mouth and tried to scream. Not a sound. 

The kids were very, very quiet the rest of the day. Jared isn’t sure if that makes him a clever parent or a desperate one. Both seem like a fair assessment. 

Fourth visit and a question pops up about Disneyland. Did he like it? No. Not really. Especially not when he was in his first trimester. His body was changing. He wasn’t eating or sleeping enough. The smell of ice cream made him increasingly nauseated every single day. If he had had a resume of all the times he’d thrown up before getting pregnant, maybe he’d fill half a page. Six months after the babies were born, his body somehow readjusted, and that resume qualified him to be an expert on throwing up at any given moment in any situation. After all that, does he want more kids? 

Yes. Very much so.

With Jensen?

...yes. Very much so. 

So why does it seem so impossible?

The questions become more detailed, sharpened, by the fifth session. Well, just because he can tell stories about the kids and admit a few things here and there, doesn’t mean he’ll just spill his guts. Does he have issues with anxiety? Who doesn’t. Does he remember being depressed as a child or a teenager? Every gay teenager in Texas has that memory, it’s like an initiation to a club no one wants to be part of but they can’t live without. Does he remember ever being sexually abused?

Jared walks out. Halfway through. 

He plans on never coming back. 

Fuck that. Fuck this. Psychology is subjective. It’s a liberal art. He could have gone into that bullshit, too. If he hadn’t. If he hadn’t a lot of things.

Does he resent his children? 

Does he resent Jensen? 

Before Jensen, Jared had made tentative peace with giving them up for adoption. They would have been free to live their lives and he would have been free to live his.

What kind of parents thinks that way about their kids? 

Young ones, probably. 

Doubt and guilt and hurt pound against his chest and make themselves at home in his heart for the rest of the day and into the evening. When Jared hesitates to get out of bed at two in the morning in response to one of the kids crying from a nightmare, the chambers in his heart expand to make room for all that grief. 

Shit.

Six session almost does not happen.

But it does. He sleeps next to Jensen but not with Jensen. He holds his kids but isn’t there to hold them. He talks and eats and works and bakes and blows his nose and brushes his hair and puts on his shoes like a ghost. He never worked The Haunted Mansion ride. He wanted to. But it wasn’t safe to walk around in the dark where he could fall and hurt not only himself, but the lives he carried. He feels like one of those projections. It’s there, looks real, seems real, but isn’t. 

And it hurts. The kids have their first open house at school. Jared measures out his happiness in teaspoons and tablespoons. The school works well with them and their “alternative” family. Kaylee does better in language arts, Hailey enjoys science, and Bailey appreciates art time the most. Keeping them in the same class has its benefits and drawbacks, but their teacher outlines these things carefully and suggests they give them until winter break to acclimate. After winter break, the four grown ups and her can make a concrete decision. 

That’s all the sixth focuses on and Jared fights to keep it that way. Maybe he doesn’t have to fight, maybe it would be fine if he just said he’d prefer to only talk about that, but his mind approaches it as a fight.

Seven and more Disneyland, a little on Jensen. 

Eight and the tip of the iceberg on Misha and Jeff. 

Nine and word associations. He receives a word and has to reply with the first word that comes to mind. Concrete. Trust. Fear. Mine. California. Sun. Texas. No. Brother. Forgotten. Honesty. Lost. Choices. Gone. Running. Going. Problems. Many. 

On the tenth, Jared realizes that visiting this office almost seems routine. He spreads out on the leather couch now, unafraid of taking up room or sitting in a casual pose. He actually drinks the cup of water set out for him on the marble table. How does this make him feel? Tired, if he’s honest. And he’s trying to be honest. If he’s not being honest, at least in small increments, then what’s the point of this? What does he think the point of this is? 

He’s not sure.

He’d like to sleep with Jensen instead of just next to him. Like before. 

So is that what he wants? For things to be like they were before? What before is he talking about? Before his brother showed up? Before the kids were born? Before he left Texas? 

No. No, maybe. Maybe some of that. Some of all those things. Everyone lives with the reality of choice. There were so many different choices he could have made--but that doesn’t mean he regrets the ones he did. No. 

If he has to, he can pinpoint when things went from bad to worse.

His parents, he could understand. He forced himself to understand them. They had less than high school educations. Their ideas of luxury consisted of buying good butter and having a full tank of gas in the truck. Jared was born an observer. He looked at his childhood from the outside in. When he left, he was relieved, and he figured he could fix things with his parents in the future. If he wanted to. But first, he wanted to live. 

Session ten becomes ten and a half. He exceeds his fifty minutes. 

Emotion rises and seeps out of his chest like the mud in Texas after it rained. 

He sloughs off one sentence at a time, hacking away until he reaches skin again. And suddenly, with a patch of skin exposed, his voice breaks through it, piercing up and out instead of down and in.

“I said no,” he states. “I said yes because I was nervous and guilty and afraid and lonely and needy and stupid and young and I thought, maybe he wouldn’t die. Maybe he’d stay alive and really move out to California too and it could be us against the world.”

Milo asked. He asked once, in front of Tristan, and Jared said yes. 

But when they got to the motel, that yes transformed into a maybe with each passing second. He wasn’t sure. But how was he sure he wasn’t sure? He’d never had sex before. The act of it wasn’t a huge mystery but he kind of wanted it to be on his first time. He didn’t want to know everything right away. He wanted it explained to him, in a way, through touch and feel and sight and sound. 

“I told Jensen he was very sweet. Awkwardly sweet and caring. I told him the condom broke and neither of us knew.”

What did you know?

“I know I said no. I whispered it. Then I said it. Then I yelled it.”

And he didn’t stop.

“No. Twice. Two times in an hour. And there was no condom.” 

What did you think about yourself right after?

“It wasn’t right… not right after. It was the first time I saw Jensen in the parking lot at work. He was beautiful. Handsome. The kind of boy in those dreams that kept me alive. And he walked right past me.”

Do you blame him for that?

“Oh god no. Never. I blame myself.”

Why do you blame yourself?

“Because. Of what happened. I felt like everyone could see it on me. And who… who would want me then?” 

Have you thought about telling Jensen this? Or your brother? Anyone?

“I try to keep my memories of Milo happy. I see him in my kids sometimes.”

That’s very normal. Common. It’s a survival technique.

“I don’t want to hate my kids.”

No one said you did.

“I love my kids. I’d relive it a million times if I had to, just to get them again.”

“I know, Jared. No one questions that.”

“...I’m taking up your time, I’m sorry. I can go.”

“No, it’s okay. Even if I had another patient to see, it’d still be okay. We can work things out.”

Jared sniffles and blows his nose in a Kleenex. He adds to the small mountain of Kleenex in the trash bin by his feet. “Why? Are you sure?” 

His therapist nods and gives him a warm, small smile. “Yes, I’m sure. I think you’re listening.” 

 

Right after, Jared drives to Rhonda’s apartment. 

She kicks out her date, an interesting looking man with blue hair wearing a red velvet suit. He doesn’t complain, which wins him not a kick in the groin. It doesn’t, however, guarantee him a return phone call. Being a decent person does not guarantee any rewards. 

Rhonda immediately transforms from concerned friend to will level the earth friend. 

They start in the living room, on the couch. After half a box of tissues and two glasses of water and two Advil, she moves them to her bed. They slip under the covers, still wearing their respective outfits from the evening, and she doesn’t flinch when he starts to cry again. 

He can’t tell her why.

She doesn’t press. Instead, she calls Misha to let him know that Jared will be staying over. Misha sounds like he wants to know more; Rhonda promises to call in the morning. 

Just like one of the kids, Jared cries himself exhausted. 

He wakes up with one of the wires in Rhonda’s bras stabbing him in the ribs. She sleepily mentions that if he thinks that hurts, he should try wearing one. 

They slowly emerge from bed. He fights something like a hangover--emotional hangover--and stares at himself in the bathroom mirror for a good five minutes. Not eating or sleeping well have taken a toll on him. His hair no longer retains a shine. His jaw line looks sharper. 

Ugh. He looks like his brother.

A voice in the back of his head unhelpfully tells him that they’re twins, of course they’re going to look alike. Jared rolls his eyes at himself and turns away from the mirror to exit the bathroom.

Breakfast consists of greasy biscuit and sausage sandwiches from the deli one block down. Rhonda got them while Jared brooded in the bathroom. For the first time in a while, Jared not only enjoys a hot meal without being asked for something, but he also tastes what he eats. He munches through the sandwich, two hashbrowns, and an apple, then downs a big glass of water and another glass of orange juice. 

Unfortunately, energy doesn’t magically return to him. 

Rhonda drives him home in his car. Once there, she asks Jeff to drop her back off. Jeff agrees, but gives Jared a rib-crushing hug before going to get his keys. 

Does Jeff know? But how could he know?

“It looked to me,” Jeff says, patting Jared’s shoulder, “like you needed a hug.”

Oh. Okay.

Misha walks out from the kitchen and takes Jared’s hands into his. He squeezes. Then, he announces that the kids, Jeff, himself, and Rhonda are all going to go out for a long lunch and a walk on the pier. Jeff and Misha both say it’s okay for Jared to remain unseen while everyone leaves. They get it, they say, they understand. 

For the half hour he’s alone in the house, Jared wonders how he got here. How he got so lucky.

One of the main reasons walks in, surprisingly dressed in a suit. 

“I was worried,” Jensen blurts out, so rarely the one to speak first. He sets down the suitcase in his hand and stands near the door. He answers Jared’s unspoken question. “I uh… had an interview.”

“An interview?”

“Yeah. Uhm. I can tell you more about it later. Are you okay?” 

How to answer that. Is he okay? Does Jensen mean right now or overall? Because both of those answers might be no. 

He’s tried to picture this conversation, tried to prepare for it. He came close, a few times, years ago, but it’s so much easier to move forward and try not to look back. It’s been so much easier to tell Jensen a version of the truth to spare his feelings. 

So Jared logically understands why Jensen didn’t tell him about Tristan. 

“I’m gonna tell you something,” Jared says, chin up, shoulders back, “and I may or may not want to talk more about it after. If I don’t, please don’t ask me to. If I do, please don’t turn away.”

Ten and a half sessions, five weeks, countless hours of emotional work and Jared says to Jensen, clear as day, “I was raped.” 

A multitude of expressions appear on Jensen’s face: anger, sadness, anger, concern, and anger.

He wants to know when, by whom, how, why didn’t he tell him sooner? Or ever? How could he go through something like that by himself? Why did he frame it so differently? Jensen hadn’t even thought to ask if there was something more to it. He’s sorry. More than sorry. 

Jared asks him to stop apologizing. 

And to please stop asking questions. 

They don’t have to talk about it all at once. Jared doesn’t have to talk about it all at once.

“Can I…” Jensen covers his mouth for a second, his jaw twitching. “Can I give you a hug? Please?”

Jensen knows. And he still wants to give him a hug. Jared nods, worried that something might happen to stop it. 

But it doesn’t. Jensen doesn’t stop hugging him halfway through it, or even release the tiniest bit of pressure while he continues to press their bodies close to together. Chest to chest, partner to partner, Jared lives in the moment. 

He closes his eyes and leans in, stands against one of the best choices ever presented to him in this life. This gift speaks low, loyal and true. 

“Even my bones know this language, and moan it deep in their interior.” Jensen holds Jared like one of the kids. “I say the dead done left me, stranded, at the interior, which is this stranger’s face, his sprawling sadness. I say any blade in my hand is just my hand and I know its weight exactly, the lift of its bite.” Sharp inhale. “One lord. One chariot. I’m a boy in love.” Gradual exhale. “Let the dead bury their dead.” 

Jared nods. 

He knows he’ll go back for session eleven.

 

**Author's Note:**

> poem here is "lord and chariot" by rickey laurentiis. omg "boy with thorn" is beautiful. simply amazing.
> 
> i hope y'all like this. it is very near and dear to me. i like the shape this eventually took. now i'm off to bed because ugh exhausted. comments are love!


End file.
